


Crashing Down

by ATouchOfHeavenlyLight



Series: Surprise [2]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Bingo Card One, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mirandy Year of Fun & Frolics, Pre-Relationship, Pregnancy, Writers Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATouchOfHeavenlyLight/pseuds/ATouchOfHeavenlyLight
Summary: After a chance encounter in an elevator, Andy Sachs is back in Miranda Priestly’s life. At least, in part. They’ve been texting for a few days, but one day Miranda doesn’t text back. Andy tries not to sweat it, until an urgent phone call brings unexpected news.





	Crashing Down

**Author's Note:**

> For Bingo card 1: pregnancy

It started out as a normal day at The Mirror. She was getting the hang of things, her schedule was busy but nice, she didn’t mind the crappy writing assignments, not when they gave her the opportunity to prove herself in the eyes of her superiors turning fluff assignments into something substantial. She liked her coworkers and had even made a few friends—including Penny and her new little boy Joseph that she’d seen in the hospital last week. This job, she felt, was going to give her opportunities to branch out and become exactly what she wanted to be.

It had also given her the opportunity to run into Miranda by chance. She’d been under the impression she may well never see Miranda Priestly again—she’d sent a card and bouquet of roses to thank her for the letter of recommendation and apologize for…well, quitting on the fly and damaging company property. But that day in the Hospital, there she was, holding the elevator for Andy. Taunting Andy’s choice in flowers.

She preferred tiger lilies, she’d said.

And so, tiger lilies she’d gotten. Andy put her big girl panties on and sent Miranda a hopefully more impressive flower arrangement, and a card with her new phone number on it. she wasn’t sure if Miranda would ever respond to that, but the day the flowers were delivered, Andy’s phone lit up with a text from an ‘unknown’ number. ‘ _ I see you’ve not lost your attention to detail. The cerulean vase was a bit much don’t you think? Do not think this gives you leave to text me at your leisure, nor the delusion that I would reply. That’s all.’ _

But she did. Not immediately or anything, not all the time. But over the past few days, Andy had found some arbitrary reason or another to text Miranda, and Miranda had found the time to respond in kind. It was…interesting. They were flirting? Like, almost-flirting, Andy was decently sure. And she wasn’t sure what to do about it. Miranda wasn’t the sort of woman some 24-year-old with a shitty apartment, at the lowest point of the totem pole at the Mirror could just ask out to coffee. She was pretty sure there was no one so great they could ask Miranda Priestly deign to get coffee with them.

Maybe dinner?

Andy didn’t have anything to offer someone like Miranda, she didn’t bring anything to the table, power, or wealth, or prestige. Miranda was a powerhouse and she needed someone…well, more like Miranda.

She’d sent such a text that morning on her way to work,  _ ‘Heading in to the office today. I’m not a weatherman but I’m 90% sure it’s raining right now.’  _

The pace at which Miranda texted her usually warranted she’d have a reply by the time she’d set her stuff down at her workspace, booted up her computer and grabbed a cup of coffee before the pot was drained empty by her coworkers.

But no reply came.

Which was stupid to notice really—this was Miranda Priestly, she didn’t have time to text ex-assistants about the weather, but usually her texts had warranted some form of response, usually with dark sarcasm or something that hinted at flirtatious taunting.

Her phone got many notifications that day—emails from work, texts from Lily and a voicemail from her mother ‘just checking in on her baby’, which was code for ‘Nate’s gone and I don’t think you can handle living in New York alone’—but she didn’t get a single text from Miranda.

She put it out of her mind that evening as she prepared for bed. Whatever she got from Miranda she got, and she’d just have to be fine with it, it’s not like she expected much from their texting.

She stepped out of the shower, wrapped up in a towel, and was just brushing her teeth when her phone vibrated on the countertop.

_ Miranda _ was printed across the small screen.

Andy pulled her tooth brush out of her mouth and flipped open her phone without a second thought, “Miranda?” she asked, the name muffled around the gob of toothpaste and spit in her mouth. Jesus.

And then Miranda spoke, not so much as a hello, but ten words spoken in low, scathing tones,

“Did you tell anyone you saw me at the hospital?”

Andy spat her toothpaste into the sink, half in necessity, and half out of surprise. “What?”

“ _ Did you tell anyone you saw me at the hospital? _ ”

“No, God Miranda, of course not.”

“There is no ‘of course not’ about it you-” Miranda fell silent and for a moment Andy thought she’d dropped the call. Or Miranda had flat out hung up on her.

“Miranda?”

A sigh was heard at the other end of the line. “Yes?”

“Why are you calling me two am with the Miranda Inquisition? What’s wrong?”

“There is nothing-” it sounded like she couldn’t speak then, her voice sounded like it was clogging up or something.

Like when someone was trying not to cry.

“Did something happen at the hospital? Are you okay?” And then she remembered, oh God, she’d been there for a mammogram and pap-smear.  _ Cancer _ screenings. A weight of dread plummeted in her stomach as she asked, “Miranda, are you sick?”

A mirthless chuckle, and then, “Andrea. I need to know. You’re sure you mentioned to no one my hospital visit?”

“Positive,” Andy promised, ignoring the slight shiver hearing Miranda call her ‘Andrea’ sent through her—this was serious. And then she heard the sound of traffic in the background. “Miranda? It’s after midnight, are you just now heading home?”

“I’m on a bit of a drive. The rain you so wittily concluded was happening has cooled the city air a bit, it’s rather lovely.”

“Shit, Miranda don’t talk on your phone and drive! You’ll get a ticket! Or wreck!”

That got her another mirthless laugh and it sent her worry into overdrive.

“Miranda, where are you right now? Pull over and I’ll come to meet you.”

There was a sigh. And then, “Actually, I believe I am near your rat-infested apartment complex.”

“You…uh…you want to come to my apartment?”

“Want? No. But your suggestion of continuing this conversation face to face is…acknowledged as an apt one.”

“Uhh right, okay sure just uh…you have the address?”

“Send it to my phone. That’s all.”

_ Click _ .

Andy dropped her towel and made a mad dash for her bedroom, tripping over the bed as and nearly cracking her head against the dresser, but she caught herself on the dresser handles and then, one hand went to the floor to support her weight hanging halfway off her bed, and the other yanked open the drawer to pull out  _ something  _ before Miranda  _ Priestly  _ showed up at her apartment. At two in the goddamn morning.

What was even happening?

She pulled on shorts and her white tank top, throwing aside the towel she’d had her hair wrapped in, she rushed into the living room/kitchen situation and tried to ascertain just how much of a disaster zone her apartment would look like. In general, it wasn’t that bad. At least there were no clothes strewn on the floor or days-old take out.

Thank you, God, it was the night before trash-pick up. Her apartment didn’t look like she only lived in it to sleep and eat like she’s ten people now that she doesn’t have to be a size 4 and dropping to fulfill her role in the workplace.

She got the call to buzz Miranda in and she felt like her heart was in her throat as she waited the painstaking stretch of time that seemed to slow, between Miranda entering the building and ascending to Andy’s apartment.

She was here. She was really freaking here.

A quiet knock sounded at Andy’s door, heart pounding in her chest, she opened the door to reveal Miranda looking…shaken. Her makeup was spotless, hair in its usual signature-coiffed state, her clothing probably cost more than Andy would pay in rent this month.

But her eyes, these were the eyes that looked up at Andy that night in Paris when she’d been barefaced and crying, the most exposed Andy had ever seen her. At least, until right now.

Miranda said two words. Two words that made everything happening right now click into place.

“I’m pregnant.”

 

When Miranda had gone in for her annual pap-smear, her gynecologist noted what he’d termed ‘some abnormalities in the appearance of the cervix’. He sent her to get some blood tests. 

A few days later, she was back in his office finding out that she, at the age of 50, was pregnant.

In her panic to get ahead of this—any chance that this might leak to the press before she was…prepared, before she’d had even a day to consider her options—she called Andrea. Miranda had gone about ensuring there was absolutely no way anyone but she, the Emilys and hospital staff had even an inkling that she’d been in the vicinity of a hospital for any reason whatsoever.

But Andrea had seen, was beginning to be a kind of familiar aspect of her life again through the interaction.

She thought at first, it was just to make sure the girl didn’t go running her mouth—it had been foolish to hold the elevator for her, even more so to accept the phone number that came with those beautiful flowers in that god-awful vase. The worst was she’d actually given in, indulged in texting, in  _ flirting _ with Andrea. 

She realized she’d been fooling herself, about her motives, moment she was standing in the doorway to Andrea’s shabby little apartment, Andrea, hair wet and freshly showered, in a horrendous white tank top that clung wetly to her damp skin and  _ lord _ those shorts. Horrible. 

And breathtaking. Oh god, she looked well—beautiful and to Miranda’s eye, filling out a bit from her former life as a half-starved assistant at Runway. Why exactly had she been found at fault at a size six? The bit of weight she’d put on was…healthy and pleasant.

The entire picture was enough to make Miranda want to pull Andrea to her and kiss the concerned look off of her face. Oh, good heavens, the  _ concern _ .  _ This _ was why she’d sought Andrea. 

Andrea, who’d seen her breakdown in Paris and didn’t take the opportunity to undermine her. To shame her to the press. Andrea who’d rushed to her supposed aide—an unnecessary effort, but appreciated, all the same. The loyalty. The concern she felt for Miranda as Miranda. 

Andrea, who’d been so very heartbroken when she discovered just how low Miranda would get to secure her position at Runway—that Miranda had betrayed someone she and Andrea both saw as a friend. A friend that trusted Miranda. Andrea who believed Miranda could do better than that—who thought Miranda so powerful, she naively believed she could have somehow kept her place at Runway without sacrificing her friends dreams for his own career. 

Andrea, who’d apologized. Apologized for the way she’d ended things, in a tantrum, in the middle of the single most important event on Miranda’s calendar. 

And even though that was important, that Andrea knew just how very immature her reaction in Paris had been, Miranda was left feeling that she should too…apologize. It was foolish. Apologize—for what? For protecting her career? 

But something in the level of betrayal she’d seen Andrea endure at her actions…she wanted more than anything to fix that. Erase the memory of Andrea’s disappointment. Miranda remembered the fleeting feeling, that day in the car, when she felt, if only for a moment, she would give in to the need to give the girl chase, run through the streets of Paris to set things right then and there.

But she hadn’t. and then fate brought them together again just before the pitfall of Miranda’s…well…everything.

She was pregnant. After everything Stephen put her through, after everything she’d done to secure a divorce from that man, and here she was. She’d given into temptation then, the fleeting feeling that she could save her marriage, prove to her husband she wasn’t a haggard old woman concerned only with her career.

Now, she was a pregnant old woman, concerned about everything all at once. Her daughters, her career, the press—and at the center of all this, the unborn life confirmed to be growing inside her despite everything that said this couldn’t happen. 

When the news first hit her, she wished with everything the temptation she’d given into had been the one to pursue Andrea that day in Paris, chase her down, kiss her senseless, until all she could do was listen to Miranda explain. Explain just how very important her actions had been, that she couldn’t save her career without sacrificing this opportunity for Nigel—this opportunity, that she had another sure thing in the works, would easily replace the opportunity lost. 

But just what sort of twisted luck brought Andrea back into Miranda’s life just before the destruction Stephen left in his wake had struck?

This twist of fate gave her back Andrea. The one who saw Miranda capable, and powerful, and knew what she was worth. Who had unspeakable levels of loyalty towards her. 

Miranda did not need someone with power, or wealth, or prestige.

She needed Andrea.

And so when Andrea tugged her forward into what could only be termed a shoebox of an apartment, she went willingly and sat down on a couch that was little more than a threadbare mess. But sitting on it somehow was comfortable, almost like a hug, and it smelled of Andrea so she relaxed.

“So, pregnant?” Andrea asked, sitting on the other end of the couch.

Miranda nodded. She’d thought she was half a step from menopause, but no.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?”

Miranda paused here. No, she really didn’t know. She was 50, going to be 51 by the time this child was born if she decided to go on with it. That was the highest of high risk pregnancies. She wasn’t a doctor, but she knew that much. She might not come out of it alive. The baby might not make it to term. The child might be irreparably damaged, doomed to living a half life, completely dependant on others. She would love a child like that to the ends of the earth, of course, but if she knew going in that that was a very likely option should she take the risk? It wasn’t only her suffering on the line.

And the girls. Oh god her girls.

“No. I do not.” She felt tears prick at her eyes but she blinked them away. This was not going to be Paris all over again.

“In a perfect world where nothing went wrong, what would you do?”

Miranda looked up to meet the woman’s eyes, deep brown and so warm. She swallowed. “I would keep them. But this is not a perfect world, Andrea.”

“No. It isn’t.”

They sat in silence for a long moment before Andrea scooted closer to Miranda and grabbed her hand. She traced circles on the back of Miranda’s hand and Miranda just looked on amazed.

“Why me?” she asked, the words coming out before she could stop them. But now she might as well double down. Miranda Priestly didn’t back down from much. “Why be romantically interested in me?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Miranda laughed once, amusement fading quickly in the wake of everything serious surrounding her. “I suppose you could, but I do have an answer. You are beautiful, capable, so very intelligent, but most of all and most importantly you are loyal to me. After everything, after Nigel, after the car ride, you did not run straight to the press to shame me. You sent me a thank you letter instead. You apologized. Andrea, you’re quite unlike any woman I have ever come across in all my years. And even now, I am here at two in the morning and you’ve taken me straight in and talked to me. Finding this is...rare. I have felt so lonely at the top of Runway for years and yet I found you, someone who could match me as an assistant. The irony does not escape me. And yet right now in the middle of all of there there is nowhere else I would rather be.”

She looked away from Andrea, but felt her stare all the same. She’d just bared her heart to the other woman. She could count on her hands the number of times she had done that.

“You’re brilliant, you’re beautiful, god you’re magnetic, but I think everyone has been telling you that for years to please you at all those events. Working for you, though, showed me something not everyone sees. You care Miranda. You care so much I think it destroys you sometimes. You have these walls up against it, but things get past it. The girls, Nigel, even Emily,but you don’t show it because you can’t. And yes you forget birthdays and anniversaries, and spend too much time at work, but you try to fix it however you can. I know right here right now that the top three priorities in your life if we went forward would be the girls, Runway, and then me in that order and I’m ok with that. Because I know that there is more than enough for me there even in third. You aren’t perfect, not like the fashion world thinks you are, but god, that’s what has me here holding your hand.”

Miranda swallowed. “I am going through a divorce, I have two girls, soon to be another one on the way, and still?”

“And still.”

“Even with the media storm that this will surely incur?”

Andrea squeezed her hand. “I am part of the media. I know the tricks. I think I can withstand it all.”

“Andrea…”

“I can. I know what I’m made of, Miranda. You made fun of me for being from the midwest, but they make us from sterner stuff out there. Everyone thinks we’re all innocent and naive, but we know people are assholes and we’re still trusting even then. It takes a tough person to do that, don’t let anyone tell you different.”

“So what do you think I am going to do?”

Andrea sat back and thought about that for a minute. “I think you’re going to keep the baby. I think it’s only peripherally crossed your mind to terminate the pregnancy. You have the money and access to the doctors that can get you through this as best as possible. And for everything else, you’re a planner. A schemer. No matter the problem you’ll find a way around it to twist it in your favor.”

“And if I need your advice?”

Andrea snorted out a laugh. “If you think I’m moving from your side during any of this you have another thing coming.”

Miranda looked back at Andrea to find the woman still watching her. Her expression was warm, open, and underneath, a glint in her eyes said she was vulnerable in this moment too. She desperately didn’t want Miranda to reject her. So Miranda didn’t. She leaned forward slowly, giving enough time for Andrea to realize what she wanted and then she kiss the other woman, light, chaste, and so fiercely needed.

“I believe that is agreeable.”

 


End file.
